So, remember how I was hoping that I would start feeling better at twelve weeks?
I think I did feel better, marginally, for a few days. It's hard to remember that far back (two weeks ago, for those of you not following along carefully from home). But then, for no apparent reason, I started feeling worse. I have actually managed to get sick more times since I hit twelve weeks than I did in my entire pregnancy up until that point. Iiiiiiick.
The most infuriating thing is that I had thought I could control the nausea by being excruciatingly careful in my eating habits. Every time I had gotten sick before, I could blame it on my having caused a sudden blood sugar spike by eating something I knew I shouldn't have (Cinnamon Toast Crunch, apple crisp, etc.). I've always been really sensitive to my blood sugar and in those cases I could actually feel it rising, and rising, until my body rebelled. (“Okay, too much! Get this stuff out of here!”)
Because I am not by nature a person who likes to take risks when the risk in question involves intimate knowledge of the inside of a toilet bowl, I've cut sugar from my diet pretty much completely, except for the stuff that naturally occurs in milk and apples. But now, perhaps to punish me for imagining that I could control the elusive Pregnant Digestive System, things have started coming up completely randomly. I am losing my apples and peanut butter, for heaven's sake!
I've tried speaking sternly down my esophagus (“That is protein, young lady. It is good for you and you need to hold onto it!”) but my stomach is apparently not a friend of mine and continues to eject nutritious foodstuffs at will. It is far more frustrating than the previous aversion to sugar, because that was predictable and this has, at least to my untrained eye, absolutely no rhyme or reason.
Fortunately, I'm now fourteen weeks, which is clear second-trimester territory, and am holding tight to the hope that I will really feel better soon. It could happen! It could!
Meanwhile, Bryan is in DC for two days, and we are out of milk. With him gone, there is no one to make the dreaded grocery store run except for me. I'm thinking I'd better hie myself off to collect a couple gallons before the dreaded evening hours, which are the worst by far, approach and send my stomach and me careening unhappily into the next dimension. (You thought it was Time, but it is not. It is Nausea.)
I still believe that a better blogger, one who updates at regular intervals, is living somewhere inside me. Perhaps she will emerge again someday when her hostess has once again rejoined the human race.